


The Egg Job

by Vorpal_Sword



Category: Leverage
Genre: Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Chirping as Flirting, Eggs, F/M, Fights, Fluff, Humor, Inspired by Real Events, M/M, Meet-Cute, Meet-Ugly, Multi, OT3, Slap Slap Kiss, Waffle House, Waffle House Egg Guy AU, that will be a real tag one day, well reddit events anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:01:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24159322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vorpal_Sword/pseuds/Vorpal_Sword
Summary: Hardison is generally a great boyfriend.His feud with the bandanna-wearing chef at Waffle House is pretty weird, though.
Relationships: Alec Hardison/Parker, Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer
Comments: 73
Kudos: 306





	The Egg Job

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this amazing Reddit post.](https://twitter.com/redditships/status/1260126130687881217?s=20) I saw the post, thought "lol imagine your OTP," then went, "wait, imagine MY OT3" and then this happened.
> 
> Also, I've literally never been to a Waffle House, so do with that what you will.

Hardison glared at his egg. “Do you see this?” he demanded.

Parker looked up from her tablet. “It’s an egg.”

“It’s an _overcooked_ egg, is what it is.” When his girlfriend failed to respond with what Hardison would consider appropriate outrage--or, at the very least, some kind of sympathy--he turned to glare over his shoulder at the counter. “Hey, chef!” he called. “These eggs are overcooked.”

There was a crash from the kitchen. A long-haired man in a red bandanna appeared at the counter. “What did you say was wrong with my eggs?” he growled.

Hardison poked at the egg in illustration. “Look, man, your bacon is crispy, your waffles miraculously avoid being either too dry or too soggy, but this fried egg is hard, and I like it a little runny, you know?”

The chef narrowed his eyes at the plate, absently twirling the spatula between his fingers. He grunted, and returned to the kitchen without another word.

Hardison, disconcerted, returned to glaring at his plate while Parker devoured her chocolate chip peanut butter waffle. A few minutes later, someone cleared their throat politely, and Hardison jumped.

Parker, of course, smirked at him--no one could sneak up on Parker successfully. 

“With the compliments of the chef,” the server said, putting a plate in front of Hardison. 

He stared at it.

“Is this a joke?” 

“No, it’s your replacement egg,” the server said. She said it with just the right amount of confusion, not a wide-eyed obviously fake innocent look or any other clear tell. Parker giggled. Hardison pouted.

“Scrambled eggs,” he said in disbelief. “Gee, thanks, just what I wanted,” he called.

Parker didn’t hear anything from the kitchen, but Hardison swore he heard someone laughing.

_One week later:_

“I don’t know why you insisted on _this_ Waffle House,” Parker repeated, coming through the door. “There are a hundred other options, including four other Waffle Houses in a reasonable radius.”

“It’s a matter of principle,” Hardison insisted, and ordered a burger with a fried egg, slightly runny, on the side.

The same server, Sophie, delivered their meals without a hint of a smirk. 

“What the hell is this?”

“Your meal, sir,” Sophie answered at the same time as Parker enthused, “ooh, my burger!”

Hardison picked up the toast. The egg fried in the center of it wobbled slightly. Parker, Sophie, and the other diners watched in mixed amusement, bemusement, and horror as he walked over the counter, grease staining his fingers, and threw the egg toast directly at the chef, who snatched it out of the air without taking his eyes off of the grill.

The whole diner gasped. The clatter of the kitchen paused, except for the sizzle of the cooking food.

“Molly?” he said evenly.

“Yes, chef?” 

“Take the grill.” 

The teenager moved into her assigned spot, looking terrified. 

The chef walked around the bar and tossed the toast right back at Hardison. The yolk oozed down his cheek. 

Hardison shoved him. Awkwardly, ineffectively, but still a shove. 

Parker took another bite of her burger. The meat was tender, balanced perfectly in flavor and texture with the salty crunch of the pickle and the acidity of the tomato.

The chef shoved Hardison back. It was not awkward. Parker noted that it was only ineffective because Chef Bandanna was avoiding actual damage. She turned back to her burger. The bun was lightly toasted, just enough to keep it from getting soggy where the bread met the tomato. 

“This is bullshit,” Hardison said, shaking himself off. “Babe?”

She grabbed his burger and followed him out the door.

_Two weeks after that:_

“Hey, chef?”

“What?”

“That guy is back.”

Eliot wiped his face with the back of his hand. It was about a million degrees in this kitchen. “What guy?”

“Egg guy. Want me to get rid of him? Assaulting the chef is grounds for a lifetime ban from any restaurant, seriously.” Sophie's voice was gentle. “Not that you couldn’t handle yourself, but it’s a good principle, regardless.”

Eliot thought for a moment. “Nah, let him in.” 

“Eliot?” Sophie asked. Eliot almost never took his eyes off the grill when there was food on it, but then, Sophie almost never called him by his name at work. He looked up. Her brow furrowed slightly as she fixed him with a stern glance. “What are you planning to do to him?”

“Who, me?” Eliot replied, flipping three burgers in a row. He grinned, aware the expression looked more than a little predatory. “Me? I’m going to _cook_ for him.”

Ten minutes later, when he heard the outraged cry of “ _hard boiled eggs?!?”_ he tossed down his spatula, nodded to Molly, shook out his shoulders, and went out to have a stress-relieving fight.

_Three days later:_

“You know, black eye isn’t a terrible look on you.”

“Not helpful, Parker.”

“You’re the one who insisted on coming back here.”

“It’s a matter of honor, now.” 

“Whatever you say, dear.” 

“Y’know, you never say that when you actually agree with me, have you noticed that?”

“Just order your egg, Hardison. I’m getting more waffles. Do you think they’ll let me order raw meat to put on your face when you’re done here? Just curious.”

"We definitely won't," Sophie answered, gliding by with four trays balanced on her arms.

_Seven minutes later:_

“Is this….a mushroom omelette?”

“It’s a frittata, technically. Got something to say about it?”

Hardison took a bite without breaking eye contact with the chef. “It’s... well, it’s delicious, actually, but it’s not remotely what I asked for, and you’re an asshole, and you’re bad at your job.” 

“It’s a million times better than what you asked for, you’re a dumbass, and I dunno, you keep coming back, so it seems like this model is working pretty well, actually.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you!” 

“So is this a normal sort of thing in this establishment, or is my boyfriend just special?” Parker asked Sophie casually, snagging the frittata.

Sophie watched the two men fighting. “He’s just special,” she answered. “Eliot gets into fights sometimes, sure, but tall, dark, and handsome over there is the only one he cooks for first.” 

“Hmm.” Parker pushed her fries over to share with the server, who took a couple with a quiet thank you. She watched as Eliot swung a punch, and saw precisely where it landed. “Hmm,” she said again, and nodded to herself.

_Eleven days later:_

“What’s the paprika for, chef? You know we’ve got a standardized menu, right?”

“Deviled eggs.”

“Oh, for egg guy?”

“Oooh, egg guy.”

“Hey, chef, how do you know egg guy will be coming in?”

Eliot grunted. “He’s got a very distinctive car, and he parked at the Apple store across the street half an hour ago.” 

The door chimed. 

“Oh, look, it’s egg guy.”

Eliot began peeling eggs.

  
  


_Two weeks later:_

“I’m so glad you’re back. How was your trip? Good consulting?”

Parker hugged her boyfriend tightly. 

“Gently,” he gasped. 

“Was that a _Princess Bride_ reference?” 

Hardison laughed. “I mean, yes, always, but also I’m sore. And can I tell you how much I love that you got that from just one word?”

Parker kissed his cheek. “I love you too, but don’t think you can distract me with comments about perfect breasts. You went to Waffle House while I was gone, didn’t you?”

“How’d you guess?”

Parker tugged him towards the bedroom, pulling her suitcase behind her. “You don’t do much else that leaves you sore, babe. Unless you got a character transplant and a gym membership while I was gone?” She swung her suitcase onto the bed.

Hardison shrugged. “Okay, fair enough.” He brought over the laundry hamper so she could unpack directly into it. 

“Well?” Parker asked.

Hardison didn’t even pretend not to know what she was asking. “Eggs Benedict,” he said mournfully. “Goddamn Eggs Benedict with the best damn hollandaise I’ve ever had, and all I wanted was a fried egg, over easy.” He gave her his best puppy dog eyes. “I don’t suppose you learned how to make fried eggs while you were gone?”

Parker chuckled. “I didn’t get a personality transplant, either, so no.” She tossed the last of her clothes from the suitcase into the hamper, and, for good measure, stripped off the one she was wearing and tossed it in, too.

Hardison grinned helplessly at her. “Well, I like your personality just how it is.” He hesitated. “Is that ban on comments about perfect breasts still in effect?”

Parker smirked. “Yeah, but I’ll accept hands-on demonstrations of appreciation.”

“As you wish,” he answered, and that was all for conversation that night.

_One day later:_

“So, what is an army vet with classical chef training doing at a Waffle House trolling my boyfriend?”

“Better question: What are you doing in my house?”

There was a momentary silence. “I’m interrogating you about your choices and behavior towards Hardison, and depending on how the conversation goes, I plan to either destroy your career and possibly your life or invite you to come home with me so you can date my boyfriend, too.”

After another pause, Parker prompted, “I answered your question, now it’s your turn to answer mine. This can be a mutual interrogation if you like.”

“How do you know about my history? Who even _are_ you?” 

“No, no, I’ve already answered one of yours, you don’t get two more yet.”

Eliot sighed. “Food is life, and I had enough of death in the army. I don’t work well in a fancy restaurant. People dropping more on a meal than some of my staff earned all week, and appreciating the status more than the food? Waffle House is better for me for now.”

Parker squinted at him. “Okay. I’m a security consultant. I find holes in security systems so they can be closed. I’ve got connections all over the place, including the military and the culinary scene. That’s how I met Hardison, he does cryptography, we worked together on securing a bank one time. My name is Parker. Why have you been trolling my boyfriend?”

“You’re not asking why I’ve been beating him up?”

Parker shook her head. “I watched you fight. You’re very careful to avoid hitting the same place twice, and you never hit anything actually vital. Someone with your experience? That’s not an accident. Also, he's the one who kept seeking you at your place of work. You didn't come after him. Answer the question, Spencer. Corporate won’t appreciate hearing about all the improvising you’ve been doing.”

“I don’t like threats.”

“Noted. Answer the question.”

“The first time, I was just annoyed at him insulting my food. The second time, the egg in the hole? I thought it was funny. I mean, technically, it was a fried egg with a runny yolk, just like he wanted, just with some extra toast. But then he threw it at me, and we fought, and… I dunno, it felt satisfying. And then it became a whole _thing._ He kept coming back and I couldn’t just serve him normally after all that, especially after he shoved me. It all kinda escalated.”

Parker nodded. “Hardison is easy to troll,” she agreed. “But there’s more, isn’t there?”

The chef fidgeted with his keys. “Most people in my job are just in and out, but egg guy--um, Hardison-- always stopped and paid attention, and saw me as an actual person and not just a faceless drone behind the counter.” He shrugged. "And I like feeding people who care about food."

Parker stared at him for a minute. “Okay,” she said finally.

“Okay?”

“Okay, want to come home with me?”

“Wait, you were _serious_ about that?”

Parker stilled. “You don’t know me well yet,” she said, “but here is one more thing about me for your records: I never, ever, make an offer I would not want to fulfill.”

“But why?”

Her grin lit up the room. “You make a killer burger,” she said, and it was the first time he felt she was not being completely truthful.

He followed her home anyway.

_The following morning:_

Eliot woke up slowly to soft sheets and warm body heat beside him. Hardison was sprawled out along the bed, naked. Eliot could trace all the marks he’d left on the other man, the bruises, the bites, the scratches. Parker had stolen all the blankets and rolled herself up like a burrito. Eliot had never seen a burrito he wanted to eat more. 

He slipped out of bed and found his way to the pristine kitchen. The fridge turned up several boxes of takeout, yogurt, three large bottles of orange soda, and a carton of eggs.

Humming softly to himself, he made three fried eggs, over easy. 

**Author's Note:**

> And they all lived happily ever after.


End file.
